


Banish the Light

by Rynfinity



Series: The Darkness Between [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few more unbeta'd one-shots based during Thor:  The Dark World.</p><p>Most of the characters are not mine.  These ficlets are part of the Further into Darkness stories...  chapters that are a little too explicit for the M rating.  They will make a lot more sense if you read (at least) the Further ficlets listed below. Comments and corrections always welcome.</p><p><i>NOTE: If you are reading these in chronological order, this is how things line up:</i><br/>Related stories from Further into Darkness:<br/>3. Solitary; 9. Sight; 15. Played;  19. Wait;  24. Free-fall;  28. Wonder;  29. Resemblance<br/>Banish the Light:<br/>1. (30) Only<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>Further into Darkness:<br/>47. Healing; 48. Reward part I<br/>Banish the Light:<br/>2. (50) Reward part II</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (30) Only

**Author's Note:**

> Follows Resemblance, from Further into Darkness.
> 
> Loki catches on to Jane catching on.
> 
>    
>  **WARNING: This has some sexual content. It's still far more angst than pr0n, though. Skip it if either of those things is... not your thing. Sad feels abound. Surprise, surprise...**

"She knows. I can see it in her face." Loki’s voice is shrill, bordering on _hysterical_.

Heimdall slouches naked in the simple wooden chair; the prince, in a similar state of undress, kneels between his solid calves and loudly airs this precise concern - with ever-increasing fervor - for what has to be the fifth time in the scant space of half as many minutes.

"Any idiot can see it," Loki barks. "It's a only a matter of time before Thor sees it – and knows it - too. And then mark my words: The shit will fly."

"Mm." Heimdall tugs gently; his hand is once again fisted tight in Loki's raven-dark hair, the strands tangled like so much fine-spun silk around his fingers. Loki is- well, he's agitated, and nothing seems to be calming him down.

Heimdall, for what little it's worth, is trying. "Why would the mortal _tattle_ on you, as you put it? She has been quite supportive of you recently. Most appreciative of the steps you took to save her. To help Thor save us all." He tugs again, with some vigor this time, still more encouraging than forcing Loki to arch against his thigh. "I too have watched Jane Foster, you know, when you have been elsewhere. She hardly seems bent on your destruction."

Loki purrs, body and mind clearly at odds with one another. He leans forward, tugging hard against Heimdall’s fingers, and mouths along the inner side of the nearest thigh. His lips, his teeth drag slowly alongside the thick ridge of muscle above the knee.

For a moment, Heimdall manages to hold onto the hope body - raw physical _want_ , primal _need_ \- rather than mind will win this round.

But of course not. This is _Loki_ after all: Loki who never really stops thinking.

Especially not when he is upset. Manic. Just one side or the other of crazy.

Lips and teeth move closer, closer. Heimdall’s feeble attempt at humor - "Oh no you don't - stop right there. I refuse to have your sharp little fangs any closer, not when you are in a mood." - falls flat; Loki just sighs, resting his cheek against Heimdall's bare leg. When he looks up, his eyebrows pinch together in a worried frown.

Heimdall reaches across with his free hand to smooth the creases away. "Why is it you think she will tell Thor," he asks again. He cups Loki's jaw, stroking a thumb along the sharp cheekbone above it. Loki is still too thin, too tense. Vibrating like a struck tuning rod.

"I don't think she will do it on purpose. With malice." Loki's exhale is a frustrated huff. "But Thor is very much a force of nature... like the rain he calls down upon the rocky peaks, he wears you down. Erodes your resistance, washes your resolve away. He is looking for me, with longing and desperation, and she- well, you saw her face. She _knows_. She knows Odin seemed extraordinarily Loki-like because, well... she is no fool, that one, mortal or no." He twists to plant a sloppy kiss on Heimdall's palm, wincing as the movement stretches his own hair fully taut. "And Thor will keep mentioning his amazement - _how could he have not noticed before, how could he, how could he?_ \- over and over and over. Drip after trickle after stream after river. Sooner or later he will wear her down; her deceit will show in her face, even if she ever means to hide it." He licks along Heimdall's palm and down two big fingers, then shuts his eyes and lets his face slide in the wet.

Heimdall hums, a low rumble deep in his throat. "And then what?" He doesn't want to talk about this, or even think about it - he _wants_ to put Loki's mouth to better use; to steer the prince up and closer, to let those slick lips and accomplished tongue work along his own still-far-too-interested-for-the-direction-this-night-is-headed cock, not to dwell upon how this will end - but there surely is no peace (let alone satisfaction) to be had until Loki can work this through.

"And then _I don't know._ He will be greatly relieved, and yet furious enough to kill me. Greedy, and yet righteous." He stiffens, pulling away. "It's all a matter of timing, in terms of which will triumph. And Thor is ever at his core a wild and volatile storm... there is little use attempting to predict his actions."

 _And therefore less use agonizing over them, dear one,_ Heimdall thinks, lips quirking into something like a smile as it hits him: The once-snide, ugly false endearment has, somehow, come to apply.

So: He waits, silent, not-so-gently carding fingers through Loki's soft hair. _We should use the time we do have wisely,_ he almost says - missing the warmth of contact, wanting to pull the prince against him - but Loki's interpretation of _wise use_ could be leaping up and fleeing the cell. Forever. It's far safer to say nothing. To wait, to hope.

If only.

"I never wanted this, you know." Loki's voice breaks. "Not a bit of it. I honestly don't even know how I _got_ here anymore."

For just an instant Heimdall thinks Loki means _this, them,_ and _here, in this cell_. As the first bitter hint of disappointment rises, he catches himself assuming and opts to _ask_ instead: "This?"

Loki rears back on his heels; kneels up, temper flaring. "THIS! Fucking everything. Odin, the throne, Midgard, Jotunheim. Being a monster. All of it. Frigga dead, Thor really hurting." He wipes at his eyes furiously. "I just wanted to _matter._ "

"Loki."

Loki opens and closes his mouth several times, but for once nothing comes out. Heimdall can feel the seidr, waves of power building dangerously in this small space. They could die here. He knows it.

Pointless. Futile. A waste.

He steels himself. "Loki," he repeats, a little more insistent this time. He reaches with both hands, fighting to stay calm and strong. "Come here. Now," he adds as Loki visible teeters on the brink of _something awful._

Heimdall carefully blanks his own expression, holds his breath, and counts silently to 50 as Loki kneels rigid. Frozen.

What happens next is too fast to follow. When it's over, the air smells near-sickeningly of burnt flesh. Heimdall takes quick stock - Loki is in his arms, in his lap, sporting a long burn along one bony forearm; his own thigh throbs in time with his too-rapid heartbeat - and then surrenders to Loki's desperate, demanding embrace.

Finally, now, the cell is quiet. All Heimdall hears is his own pounding heart and, over and around its rhythm, the wet, slick sound of their frantic mouths upon one another’s skin.

"Do you really want this, here," he manages to pant against Loki's temple. The prince backs off just enough to nod, eyes huge from pain and Heimdalls knows - cares - not what. The brief break gives him an opening, an excuse to move; without asking Heimdall stands - ignoring his own pain, gripping Loki tightly, tightly.

"Why are you here," he asks, dumping Loki unceremoniously on the cot. It is how they start; it will be how they end.

Loki looks up, legs spread wide. Burn angry red against his pale skin, cock bobbing flushed and hard against his own belly. "I'm here for you," he breathes. "For this, for us, for you."

It may be the one chance, the last chance.

Heimdall takes it.

Wastes no more time.

In short order Loki writhes and howls beneath him, one leg slung over Heimdall's forearm and the other around his pumping hips.

On a particular vicious thrust the prince screams. Heimdall silences him with something halfway between a rough kiss and a rougher bite; Loki's mouth tastes of blood and fire and _power_.

 _I don't remember it being like this_ , Heimdall struggles to think - not this mix of lust and greed and fear and pain.

Still, it’s enough. More than enough. The fear is gone. The pain is gone. Everything is gone. Nothing matters.

Only this. Only here. Only Loki.

When it's over – Heimdall coming hard on a low cry, Loki only a few hard thrusts behind - they tangle together breathless, sweaty, filthy where they are, utterly heedless of the mess.

 _I hope this isn't the end,_ Heimdall thinks as the pain slowly creeps back in. It isn't until his cheek touches Loki's that he realizes they are, both of them, crying.


	2. (50) Reward part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows Reward part I, from Further into Darkness.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: This contains fairly strong sexual content with very mild BDSM overtones**

"Whyyyy? Why are you torturing me," Loki whines (but he continues to do as he's told... Heimdall's face is mostly in shadow, but those gold eyes sparkle dangerously). The Guardian laughs.

"Oh, I hardly think you are being tortured." Warm fingers drag up over Loki's stomach, thumbs just brushing the sides of his cock; he gasps, arching up for more, then embarrasses himself still further with a needy little moan.

Heimdall leans out over him, catching himself one-handed and sliding the other hand up to close around Loki's throat. It's not enough pressure to cause the least discomfort, let alone to actually choke, but Loki can hear the _whoosh_ of blood in his ears as his heart starts to race regardless. He whimpers without meaning to and turns to nuzzle Heimdall's other wrist, the one close by his head.

"I asked you to look at me," Heimdall chides. Strong fingers tighten briefly around Loki's throat before sliding up to gently guide his face back to center. Heimdall's thumb hooks his teeth, forcing his mouth open; Loki wraps his tongue around the thumb, watching the Guardian's face until he can't anymore as Heimdall leans down to kiss him hard.

With his jaw caught and his arms pinned under him, he has no choice but to lie there and take it. Not, of course, that he wants it stopped... when he tries to arch up a little and rut against Heimdall's hip, though, he's stymied - Heimdall merely laughs into his mouth and shifts out of reach.

"Patience, Loki." The Guardian warns, voice rough with arousal. "You are _my_ reward tonight, remember? Not the other way around." He smirks as Loki frowns. "I know that is not a situation you often face, but I assure you it can be endured."

It's not a situation Loki _ever_ faces and, sadly, patience is something Heimdall has in spades; by the time he's finally asked to conjure oil, Loki is shivering and twitching and just about ready to climb clean out of his own skin.

And when the Guardian sets the amber vial aside unopened and sits back on waiting heels, looking him over for what feels like the thousandth time, it's all Loki can do not to scream in frustration. He is achingly hard, with no way to do a thing about it, and Heimdall just wants to _look?_ And yet this does not qualify as torturing him? How, exactly?

"Use these" - hands on his abdominal muscles, again, so close and yet so impossibly far - "and sit up. Just like that," Heimdall adds as Loki rolls up as ordered and rests one cheek grumpily on his own pointy knee. "Good. Now turn around." Loki does that too, if perhaps rather gracelessly, feet and ass tangled in fur. "And kneel up," which is far easier - Loki kneels tall and proud, knees splayed wide for balance. He glares back over his shoulder at Heimdall, cocking an eyebrow-

-and abruptly finds himself face-first in the bedding, spluttering indignantly, mouth and nose full of fur.

Strong hands hoist his hips in the air. Loki can feel himself flushing hotly again; this time, at least he has the head-down position to blame. Well, inside his own head he blames it... he knows Heimdall will poke fun - _and waste more precious time they could be spending fucking already; by the Nine, he will be as old as Odin by the time they get underway_ \- so he bites his tongue and says nothing. Instead he stays quietly put, hot face against the pelts and bare ass skyward, panting with _need_.

And then at long, long, long last he hears the squeaking _pop_ of the small cork pulling free of its bottle. As Heimdall trails a thick stream of warm oil between his spread buttocks, tears of relief spring to Loki's eyes.

~

Loki has been right at the edge, visibly, for quite some time now, rock-hard and dripping; Heimdall, with that (and his original mission) in mind, continues to take things slow.

Maddeningly slow, if the fussing in front of him is any indication.

And that is fine.

He kneads the tense muscles of Loki's rump with well-oiled hands, smiling as the prince mutters and curses under his breath, and then carefully pushes one thumb in. "No, hold still," he advises as Loki bucks back onto his hand frantically. "Let me do the work. I am afraid I must insist," he continues with a slap to one shifting buttock as Loki is slow to behave, "or we will be stopping now."

"So help me, stop now - stop _ever_ \- and I _will_ kill you,” Loki growls into the bedding, but he does hold still.

"Yes, good, just like that." Heimdall rubs Loki's lower back for a few moments with his free hand, then slides it into position and rewards the prince with a second thumb.

Loki's body is hot and yielding; Heimdall isn't going to last long once he gets inside.

From the sound of it, though, Loki won't be caring.

For several minutes the cave is silent but for the wet squish of oiled flesh and the harsh pants and broken gasps of their breathing.

"Ready?"; Heimdall asks once he can work his thumbs apart easily.

" _NGGHH!!_ "

"I will assume that means yes," he says, grinning. And he does as promised. His big hands span Loki's still-too-thin rump; fingers dug into Loki's hipbones, he uses both thumbs to make way and pushes his eager cock smoothly into the slick, welcoming heat.

And then, because despite everything he is a gentleman, Heimdall at last gives Loki what he wants: A good, hard, fast fucking - one hand holding tight to the prince's bound forearms, the other slung underneath and working quick and slippery over Loki's own erection - that leaves them both spent and soaked and gasping for breath.

Afterwards, because Heimdall is who he is - and because he has seen Loki suffer enough to last a creature many lifetimes - he fights the urge to collapse among the furs until the prince's arms are free and his stiff shoulders are massaged back to a state of _reasonable comfort_.

When they finally collapse into the furs together, they are both far too worn out to dream.

And that, in and of itself, is reward enough.


End file.
